West of Paradise (19 page)

Mr. Clum looked at it. “No. But I have seen this poster hanging over the telegraph.”

They both glanced over to the corner where the machine sat.

“Is it there now?” Jim asked, not seeing it.

Mr. Clum frowned and went over to the machine, searching the walls, feeling next to the machine, pulling out the drawer that held a neat stack of paper and a few lead pencils that rattled. He shook his head.

“It’s gone,” he said.

Jim nodded, thanking Mr. Clum for his time. What had set Alanna off? Had Mr. Edwards made his suspicions known? Had she noticed something about him in particular? He supposed she must’ve, why else kill him?

He opened the door to his room, deciding to nap for a bit before returning to the Oriental. Perhaps one of the dealers or the bartender would recall seeing her. He went to take his gun from his holster and muttered a curse. Damn ordinance. He flung his empty holster on the chair and kicked his boots off before lying down on the bed.

❧

Alanna dropped her valise down in the dirt outside the door before rapping on it with her left hand. In her right the hilt of a knife rested lightly, blade pointing skyward. How convenient it was that the door was hidden from the street, she thought with a smile. That way, no one would see what she was about to do.

Funny how lucky she’d been since arriving in Tombstone, as if the fortune of the town had somehow seeped into her. Encountering Bat Masterson had provided her with a pleasant diversion and her afternoon walk happened to coincide with the arrival of the stage—just in time to see Larry’s partner, Mr. Woolbridge exiting from Allen Street. She had followed him to Fly’s Boarding House, waited a short while to see whether he would come out again before crossing the street to Addie Boland’s dress shop where she window shopped for a few minutes, thinking, planning. It did not take long.

Alanna rapped on the door again, shifting her weight, hearing now the sound of movement from within, footsteps approaching. The latch lifted and the door opened, slowly.

She didn’t wait until she could see him, pushing herself forward before he could see her face, making him react, forcing him to try to break her fall. She let the knife slip down into her fingers, flipping it around in a single practiced motion and grasping it tight before thrusting deep and hard, twisting upwards. The weight of her bore him back into the room and she allowed them both to fall, pressing the knife home.

He hit the floor hard, his eyes widening in shock and recognition. He made an attempt to reach for his side arm but of course, it wasn’t there, and Alanna yanked the knife free, wiping it on the sleeve of his shirt. She pushed herself away from him, not listening to him trying to speak, not watching him trying to stop the flow of blood.

She retrieved her valise from outside the door, shut it, and undressed in front of him while he died. She stuffed her bloodied clothing into the valise, donning a clean slate blue skirt with buttons up the side. She pulled on the short matching jacket and slipped the knife back into the sheath beneath her skirts, bending down once more to Jim, putting a finger to his lips, counting, one, two, three . . . Nothing.

She rose and exited the room, satisfied. Jim Woolbridge was dead.

Chapter Twenty-Four
Tombstone (Part One)

D
on’t laugh,” Harlan said to Jack as he pulled the wagon up to the steps, still dripping from the downpour he’d been caught in. His hat was drooping along with his mustache.

Katherine glanced over at Jack who kept his face perfectly straight and said in a deadpan voice, “You look wet.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Harlan retorted.

Katherine muffled her laugh and turned away, saying, “I’ll go get the whiskey. You could probably use some.”

She returned a few minutes later with the bottle, pouring an estimated shot into each of the three cups and handing them around. Harlan had parked the wagon and leaned against the rails, smoking.

“Thank you,” he said, tipping his hat and accepting the cup.

“I don’t see any supplies,” Katherine said, having made note of the empty wagon.

“I didn’t figure you’d want any in light of the news.”

Katherine felt her heart skip a beat.

“What news?” she and Jack both asked in unison.

“Well, the reason I was delayed was thanks to our mutual friend, Jim Woolbridge, who thought he’d stop in and ask me a few questions.”

“About what?” Katherine asked.

“About Jack,” Harlan said, taking a long swallow, “and you.”

“What did you tell him?” Jack asked.

“I said I’d seen you but that you’d gone.”

“And he believed you?”

“No, I don’t think so, but a wire came in that made him forget about you. Apparently someone out in Tombstone spotted Alanna McLeod.”

Neither Katherine nor Jack said anything for a minute.

“Is that good news?” Katherine asked, frowning a little.

“I’m not sure. About a half hour after the first wire came a second one came saying the operator was mistaken.”

Katherine and Jack glanced at each other.

“Of course, if you wanted you could forget about chasing after Alanna and we could go into town and get some more supplies.” Harlan’s eyes flickered down to their matching bare feet and he gave them both a long look that said he guessed at a great deal more than he would say.

“We should go pack,” Jack said.

Katherine hesitated for the barest instant before following his lead.

An hour later they were both dressed for traveling and heading back to Hays City. There was a train west at 3 o’clock, Harlan told them.

“I’m not sure what you’ll find. Jim Woolbridge sent a wire asking for clarification, but he didn’t get any response before he left.”

“And nothing since?” Jack asked.

Harlan shook his head. “I waited ’bout an hour or so before I came over. Figured you’d want to know what Jim was up to, not to mention I imagine you’re about out of supplies.”

“Cutting it a little close there, Harlan,” Jack said.

Harlan shrugged but he didn’t apologize and two hours later dropped them at the station, wishing them good luck, adding, “When you get this all straightened out maybe you’d care to have another look at my place, eh?” He gave them a wink and tipped his hat, heading back to his wagon, whistling.

Jack and Katherine soon found their compartment, which they shared with a young reverend and his brother, both of whom proved to be agreeable. Jack introduced himself and Katherine as man and wife and Katherine couldn’t help but think how nice her name sounded with his.
Katherine McCabe
, she repeated a few times in her mind, almost giggling as she remembered playing the same game when she was in grade school. She had been so certain at the wise old age of twelve that if she married, her name
must
sound as though it matched her husband’s. Ironically, by the time she actually agreed to Antonio’s proposal she’d decided to keep her own name.

“And what sends you west, might I inquire?” the minister asked after the train had gotten underway.

“We’re heading to Tombstone,” Jack answered truthfully.

“Ah, I believe I’ve heard of it. Silver, yes?”

“Yes. I’ve a friend who has a claim and needs help with it,” Jack answered.

“Well, good luck to you. I hear it’s hard work.”

They spoke a bit longer, about nothing for the most part, and then the minister and his brother went to find the dining car for their lunch.

“Are you hungry?” Jack asked.

“No, not really,” Katherine answered.

“You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” Katherine lied, “just tired I guess. If you want to get something to eat, please do.”

“You sure? I don’t mind waiting.”

“No. Go on. I’ll be fine.”

He kissed her quick and left, promising to be back soon and she turned her face to the window.

But she didn’t really see the scenery breezing by, the tall grasses wavering, or the endless sky. She hardly heard the clickety-clack of the wheels running over the metal tracks. Instead her mind was occupied by what she was doing, where she was going.

I should be going home
, she thought.
I should be trying to get to Leavenworth and the cigar shop not heading toward Alanna
.

But . . . she was afraid for Jack, afraid to leave him. Of course, it was silly, she told herself. Just because they’d slept together didn’t mean anything, and she’d already told Jack he was under no obligation whatsoever. But she liked Jack. She liked him a lot. Which was funny considering how much she’d despised him at first.

The problem was he didn’t know anything about her and it bothered her. She hated always having to watch what she said and hated having to be careful of the things she did in case of rousing questions she couldn’t answer. Most of all, she hated knowing who Alanna was, knowing they were related, knowing what Alanna had done to Jack.

What if they found Alanna? What if she didn’t miss next time? Katherine knew she couldn’t leave yet. Alanna had to die and Katherine needed to make certain it happened
and
that Jack survived it. Then she could go home.

She closed her eyes, but she didn’t sleep, at least not right away. Instead she played out the scenes in her head, writing the scripts. And they all ended badly.

❧

Jack returned to their compartment ahead of the minister and his brother. Katherine had fallen asleep, her head resting at what looked to be an uncomfortable angle. He slid in beside her and pulled her toward him so that her head rested on his shoulder instead. She sighed in her sleep, mumbling something that almost sounded like his name, frowning a little before settling against him.

She felt good next to him, he thought, wondering if there was any way she would stay, wondering if he should even ask. There was so much she didn’t know about him, so much he couldn’t tell her. And what way was that to start a relationship?

He was a fool. He should never have slept with her, never taken advantage of her that way. He wasn’t who she thought he was, and he couldn’t give her what she deserved: the truth. He glanced at her again, her eyelashes fluttering a little against her cheeks, her hair so soft against his.

“Newly married?”

“I’m sorry?”

The minister smiled. “I was thinking that you two look as though you’ve just married.”

Jack gave a nod, almost wishing it were so.

❧

Three days later, they arrived in Tombstone via the stage from Contention, a journey that had been every bit as unpleasant as Jack had expected. They had been sandwiched in between too many people, none of whom had bathed recently, and Jack was pretty sure the driver had been drinking.

Katherine had held onto his arm for dear life, and it was all he could do not to grab her back. After a hellishly long time, they were at last deposited outside the A. D. Otis & Company Store, Katherine clutching her valise close, hat askew and a dazed expression on her face.

“C’mon,” Jack said, shaking off the ride. “Let’s get out of this heat.” The sun had only been up for a few hours but it was already scorchingly hot.

Katherine hurried after him, matching his stride as he led her down Allen Street to the Cosmopolitan Hotel, one of the nicer places Jack had stayed at. The room they took offered a view of the street below and its numerous saloons (Jack counted five at a glance), a solid oak bed covered by a star quilt, and a tall chest of drawers. A plush chair with an ottoman sat in one corner, the other screening what passed for a bathroom.

Katherine removed her bonnet and mopped her brow with one of the few handkerchiefs she had left. Jack offered a sympathetic smile.

“I’ll go see if they can bring some water up,” he said.

He was gone before she could protest, but instead of finding someone to bring water for a bath, he headed back to where they’d first gotten off the stage. Because he’s spotted something he hadn’t seen in a long while: ice cream. Israel’s Ice Cream to be precise, and Jack was willing to bet Katherine had never had anything like it.

Katherine had barely gotten comfortable in the chair by the window when Jack returned.

“You’ll never guess what I found,” he said.

She sat up, trying to see what he had. Her eyes lit up as he drew closer.

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

“Israel’s Ice Cream,” Jack said with a pleased smile, handing her the dish. “I spotted it as we walked.”

“You are a man of many talents, Jack McCabe,” Katherine said. She dipped the spoon in and closed her eyes as she savored the taste, sighing with pleasure; it was cold and sweet and very vanilla.

She had eaten it all before she noticed Jack didn’t have any. “Oh! I should’ve shared!”

Jack shook his head with a smile. “It’s okay. I think it was actually more enjoyable watching you eat it.”

“You’re silly,” Katherine said.

“Look who’s talking,” Jack said, his gaze moving pointedly down to her bare feet.

Katherine grinned guiltily. “I couldn’t help it. It’s hot!”

“I know, and you hate to wear shoes.” He sat down on the bed. “I found where the telegraph office is while I was out. Do you want to go over now or later?”

Katherine considered. She sighed and bent down to put her on boots. A few minutes later they were walking up Fifth Street, stopping before a single story building with large plate glass windows at either side of an open door. It was dim inside after the brightness of the street and there was funny smell to the place.

At first Jack thought it was the smell of ink. And probably that was most of it. But after a moment he recognized the other smell. It was days old, he guessed, but still distinctive. It was the smell of blood.

“Hello?” a voice called out from the back and in a moment they saw a man step around from the press. He was taller than average, lean, and wore a heavy apron stained with ink, shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow. Like the majority of men, he wore a mustache and Jack guessed him to be no more than forty. He was almost completely bald.

Jack offered his hand. “Good afternoon, I’m Jack McCabe.”

“And I’m John Clum. How can I help you?” he asked.

“We were hoping to speak to the operator,” Jack said, gesturing to the telegraph in the corner.

Mr. Clum glanced over to the empty chair in the corner and his face took a hard turn. “I’m afraid Mr. Edwards is no longer with us.”

“Where did he go?” Jack asked.

“He was cruelly murdered,” Mr. Clum said.

Katherine gasped.

“Has anyone been arrested?” Jack asked.

“No. But why are you asking after Mr. Edwards?”

“As I said, I’m a bounty hunter, and I have a suspicion I may know who did it.”

“That’s what Mr. Woolbridge said,” Mr. Clum said.

“Oh? Mr. Woolbridge has been here?”

“Been and gone,” Mr. Clum said.

“Where did
he
go?”

“Sorry, he never said. All I know is he talked to a few people around town: Sheriff Behan, his deputy, Billy Breakenridge, myself. That’s it.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, adding, “And I’m sorry for the loss of Mr. Edwards.”

Mr. Clum nodded. “You’re welcome, and . . . here, have a paper.” He thrust a rolled up newspaper at Jack who glanced at it briefly as they turned to leave. He stopped suddenly in the doorway.

“What is it?” Katherine whispered.

Jack didn’t say anything, but he looked at the paper again, then back at Mr. Clum. “What day is it?” he asked.

“It’s Wednesday, October the 26th,” Mr. Clum answered. “Why?”

“Shit,” Jack sucked his in breath and rolled the paper up, turning to Katherine. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

“What is it, Jack?”

And almost he told her. Almost he slipped up and told her why they had to leave, what was going to happen any moment now. But he remembered and peered out into the street, one hand on Katherine’s arm, the other at his belt. He stepped out from the shadow of the doorway slowly, eyes peeled for movement.

“What is it, Jack?” Katherine asked again. “Is it the paper? Did you see something in the paper?”

“No, it’s not the paper. I . . . I just have a funny feeling, that’s all.”

“Funny ha ha, or funny uh oh?”

“Uh oh.”

“Should I be scared?” Katherine had lowered her voice to a whisper.

They were about to turn onto Allen Street when what sounded like a car’s backfire made them both jump. Except it wasn’t a car because there were no cars in 1881.

It was gunfire. A quick succession of volleys followed, a rat-a-tat-tat that set Jack’s heart beating fast. They flattened against the building. Katherine squeezed her eyes shut like a cat who thinks they’ll be safe from what they can’t see.

“Turn around and walk the other way,” Jack said quietly.

She didn’t move.

“It’s all right, Katherine. Trust me.” He took her hand and linked their fingers, holding tight.

Jack guided her down Fifth Street, past the Crystal Palace, and across the street to their hotel.

“It sounded like a gunfight,” Katherine said once they were inside. “Was it? Was that what was happening?”

Jack said in his calm voice, “I think so, but it’s probably over by now. This town isn’t big enough for the sheriff to be too far away.”

Of course, if memory served, Sheriff Behan was quite close to the action though apparently unable to put a stop to any of it. Jack could’ve kicked himself for not paying better attention. They were lucky they hadn’t stumbled into the crossfire.

He took Katherine upstairs even though a part of him was dying to go out on the street and watch the aftermath of the gunfight, maybe catch a glimpse of Wyatt Earp and his brothers, or even Doc Holliday. But of course he couldn’t; Katherine was obviously scared to death and, he reminded himself, he already knew what happened.

Once he got her sitting down he pulled the curtains aside for a quick peek and was rewarded with the sight of four men all walking together toward the Oriental while a fifth man, Sheriff Behan, Jack saw by his badge, trailed them, calling out.

Angry words were exchanged but Jack noticed that not one of them made a move to draw and a minute later it was over, with Wyatt, his brothers, and Doc Holliday all walking over to the Oriental Saloon; Sheriff Behan stopped in his tracks.

Jack turned to Katherine who had made herself comfortable on the chaise and was fanning herself with her bonnet.

“You okay?” he asked her.

She forced a brave smile. “I’m fine,” she said.

He went to her, bending down on one knee and putting his hand to her forehead. “It’s over now. I don’t think there will be any more shooting today. I’ll go get us something to drink from downstairs and then we can try to figure out what to do next.”

She nodded her agreement and Jack wasn’t gone more than five minutes before he returned with two tall glasses of what looked like whiskey and ice. He sat down next to her, handing her one of the glasses and she sat up to take it, sipping slowly, expecting a burn that never came. Instead there was a jolt of lemon so tart and tangy it made her blink.